


such a proper prodigy

by kimaracretak



Series: the glory and the scum [4]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/F, Mentorship Dynamics, Past Relationship(s), Romulan Politics, Romulans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 06:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11892297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/pseuds/kimaracretak
Summary: In which Toreth creates alliances and Q creates mischief





	such a proper prodigy

**Author's Note:**

> the three sections in this piece take place, respectively: immediately after the meeting in [in unforgiving precarious ways](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10568037) (around TNG 2x01); during TNG 2x11 'Contagion', and around the same time as TNG 2x16 'Q Who' & the final messages in [not that i'd walk in line](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10836516) (make it a series i said it'll make you put your notes for this au in order i said)
> 
> title from delain, 'the glory and the scum'
> 
> spot the gratuitous morrowind reference xoxo

Decades in the military have trained Toreth's nervous habits away. She does not pace, she does not hum under her breath. She is composed, she is serene, she is ready.

She is waiting in Senator Cretak's antechamber and her fingertips are tapping against her thigh  _one two-two three one-one three two_ , the rhythm of Deanna's restless heartbeat and restless hands jumped unasked-for to Toreth's own, as if she were as weak.

She stills her fingers. They move again. She breathes, in and out and in and out, offbeat and purposeful. Her fingers still.

 _One two-two three one-one three two_.

She thinks, as she waits, that she may be sorry she left Deanna alive.

Fortunately she does not have long to wait. The door to Senator Cretak's office swings open at precisely half past the hour, and Toreth stands up sharply. "Senator." She salutes, fist to chest, and watches Cretak smile.

"Such formality," she says, and the amusement in her voice does nothing to ease Toreth's mind. "Come inside, please."

The Senator's office is tasteful, muted colours and minimal decoration. It almost reminds Toreth of her own quarters on the _Khazara_ , and she resolves not to let the familiarity shade into security.

Cretak steps behind her desk, nods at the chair opposite. "Sit." Toreth does so, tilting her chin to keep the Senator's gaze.

"You're not one for picking favourites from the military so blatantly, Senator," she says, before the silence can stretch on. "Yet I am not unaware how these things work. What are you asking for?"

Cretak raises an eyebrow. "No, your father's history is proof enough for that. But you _are_ unaware of how _I_ work."

Anger flares in Toreth's chest, untempered by time and better judgment as she curls her fingers around the arms of her chair. "My father was —"

"Right, in several ways, and painfully incorrect in many others," Cretak interrupts her smoothly, and Toreth feels something _pulled_ from her in that moment, like the Senator has curled her own fingers around something far less substantial than Toreth's heart.

"What ... what do you mean?" she asks faintly, watching mirth still dance in Cretak's eyes. She has never been so put off by a politician, and despite herself she can feel a grudging respect start to form.

Cretak's smile is real, one of the first real things Toreth has seen since she materialised in the Senate's transport chamber. "I have been in politics since before Khitomer, Commander. I know when to lie. What would I gain from lying to you now?"

"Something for the Empire. Something for yourself." Toreth folds her hands in her lap and does not blink. "You're a pariah in the Senate. That doesn't make you my friend. Not even my ally, yet." The words are harsh, dangerous, and yet they come easier with Cretak than more innocuous ones did with Deanna.

"Not yet." Cretak finally sits, propping her chin in her hand. The fingers of her other hand drum against the desktop, one two-two three one-one three two, and suddenly the room is so cold Toreth wonders if she is still breathing. "I would like us to be. We have common acquaintances, common goals. Common ... displeasures."

Toreth thinks of Deanna, of the vast machinery of the Tal Shiar behind her. She drops her gaze to the desk, sees the first page of her report on the Neutral Zone meeting staring back at her. "Common enemies?" Her voice sounds tight and unfamiliar to her own ears.

"I am not sure that's necessary, at this point."

"It will be, Senator."

Cretak is still smiling. Toreth feels her breath swell in her chest again. "The military taught you well, Toreth. And the Sotarek Citation you wear so proudly proves you learned from them well. But I see I must teach you more, if you will agree."

The silence feels like more of a choice than Toreth has been allowed in decades. Still the choice is obvious. "Yes, Senator."

"Excellent." Cretak claps her hands together decisively. "Return to the _Khazara_ , Commander, I'll send word along shortly."

"Thank you, Senator." Toreth's voice does not shake as she stands.

"Don't thank me quite yet," Cretak says, but there is something softer about her now, and Toreth leaves with her head held high.

Cretak waits until the heat sensors tell her Toreth has left the corridor in front of her office before directing her gaze to the corner. "I assume you heard."

Q appears in an unnecessarily large swirl of green smoke, as always. " _Jolan tru, a'rhea_ ," ey says.

Cretak pinches the bridge of her nose. "How can your Caldera accent be that appalling in all of three words?"

"I do it all for you, _a'rhea_." Ey doesn't walk so much as float over to the desk, and leans eir forearms on the side, feet kicking idly in the air behind em.

"Yes, I've noticed," Cretak says dryly. The sight of Q, in full ceremonial Senate garb, lounging midair like a child at the beach will never grow less exasperating, but each time the impulse to laugh is harder to suppress. "Are you here to talk, or to torment?"

Q can't quite shrug, in eir position, but it's obvious in eir voice when ey says, "Both, of course."

"Of course," Cretak sighs. "So, opinions?"

"Oh. Well, if she doesn't kill lover girl on the _Enterprise_ , Toreth and her pretty bird should be quite useful to you. And Kimara?"

"Yes?" she asks warily.

"When you bed her, can I watch?"

Cretak sighs. "Go to the sixth hell."

"Always." Q straightens, blows a mocking kiss. "And I'll look back every time."

And then Cretak is alone, with nothing but smoke and some unbidden — though not unpleasant — thoughts of her new ally.

 

***

 

The military talks about the Federation, of course. About the _Enterprise_ , and Captain Picard's ability to be in the most inconvenient places at the worst times.

Toreth knows better. Picard is law-abiding and far less clever than he thinks. Certainly far less clever than he would need to be to do this on purpose.

No, Toreth knows exactly which questionably-loyal bright-eyed Tal Shiar agent is responsible for the _Enterprise_ 's orbit around the remnants of the Iconian homeworld and Toreth's own secondment to the _Haakona_.

But for all her faults, Deanna does, at least, seem to have a grasp on the seriousness of the situation. Toreth lets her sub-commander deal with the insufferable humans, preferring to spend her time keeping an eye on the messages Deanna encodes in the surface transmissions.

> _Not the same as what destroyed our outposts several months ago._

How stupid did the Tal Shiar think she was?

> _The Iconians were powerful like the Q. Less capricious._

Toreth sighs. She hadn't, quite, believed Senator Cretak when she had first brought up the Q — isn't, quite, sure she believes in them even now — but the knowledge that she won't have to face them now is a thin blue lining.

> _VIRUS IN THE LOGS DESTROY THE PROBE._

_That_  message beats Commander Riker's nearly identical one by a full thirty seconds, but Taris' quick trigger finger saves her from having to make the choice between secrecy and survival.

There's hours of silence after that, nervous hours as more and more systems begin to fail. Toreth is beginning to consider the potential benefits of simply leaving, trusting distance and Romulan minds to come up with solutions, before Deanna gets back in contact.

> _Full memory wipe + restart to clear virus. Details forthcoming. Don't shoot the human if he shows up._

For a moment, she isn't sure if she hates the Iconians or Deanna more, but as Picard appears and disappears, and Taris starts overseeing a restart of the _Haakona_ 's systems, there's one more message.

> _The Federation is weak. Transmit the following to the planet to prevent full destruction of the Iconian structures._

Toreth breathes  _one two-two three one-one three two_  and thinks about the magnitude of the gift she has been given to take back to the homeworld, and to Senator Cretak.

 

***

 

There are things that go unspoken when you are always watched. Toreth learned this through her father's murder, if not before, but she is not used to the things she keeps in silence feel so heavy.

 _I have been chosen_ , she wants to say. _This will be the start of a new age, for the Senate, the military, for all of Romulus, because Senator Cretak has chosen me and_  —

"Are you really not going to bed her? _Ever_?"

Q is, for once, on the floor rather than floating in the air.

Q is, as usual, entirely unbearable.

"I'm going to kill you," Toreth says, but there isn't any heat behind it. Q doesn't need to know everything Cretak rewarded her with when she returned from the Iconian homeworld.

"No you're not," Q sing-songs, rolling onto eir back. "She likes me." Ey gestures lazily towards Cretak.

"I _tolerate_ you," Cretak corrects. "I hardly like the commander, some days."

From anyone else, Toreth thinks, that would be an insult; from Cretak it's oddly comforting.

"It's hardly a necessity in our line of work," Toreth says, and smiles as the senator's hand brushes against the back of hers as she crosses the room to the communications console. "Though speaking of work, have you heard from ... her, yet?"

"No," Cretak says thoughtfully. "Though neither have her handlers, as far as I can tell. There's been some interesting chatter from Starfleet Medical, but the _Enterprise_ has been quiet lately."

"Starfleet Med— what in the hells do _they_ want?"

"Ooh," Q says, studiously examining eir nails. " _Someone_ hasn't been reading their personnel files."

"Someone has a Senate to keep in line," Cretak snaps, as Toreth scowls and brings up the files in her tablet.

"Beverly Crusher, formerly of the USS _Enterprise_." She looks over to Q, eyes narrowed. "What's your obsession with that ship?"

"What's _yours_?" Q retorts. "Miss your girlfriend that much?"

Toreth is saved from having to dignify that with a response by a chime from the communications console.

"Speak of Glasya," Cretak murmurs. "Apparently she's resurfaced. And..." She trails off, reading in silence for a moment as her brow furrows.

"What has she found?" Q croons, appearing on Cretak's desk and giggling as Toreth slaps ineffectually at eir shoulder.

Cretak strides back across the room, one hand closing firmly around Toreth's shoulder as she leans into the touch. Feels Cretak's heartbeat in her fingertips  _one two-two three one-one three two_  just like Toreth's own.

"Mostly, Q, that you have some explaining to do." Toreth can feel Cretak's eyes boring into the back of her skull, hot and scorching-bright with a not quite written future. "And, Toreth, that we may have slightly more work to do than we planned for."

As Q laughs and laughs, Toreth cannot help but smile. She and Cretak have not yet found the final shape of things to come for their alliance, but how better to prove themselves than whatever Deanna has done now?


End file.
